Shoto watched you from across the training field, his gaze steady but thoughtful. You moved with your usual energy, helping classmates, offering advice, and stepping in wherever you were needed. It was something he’d noticed about you early on—your natural warmth, the way you seemed to draw people in effortlessly. At first, he’d admired it from afar, but over time, that admiration had turned into something deeper.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it started. Maybe it was during training when you’d stayed behind to help him fix his stance or the way you always seemed to know when he needed quiet support. Shoto didn’t fully understand his feelings, but he knew one thing—he wanted to be close to you.

He tried in small ways. Sitting beside you during lunch, sparring with you during practice, offering help when he could. But every time he tried to show you he cared, you treated it like it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d smile, thank him, and move on, leaving him wondering if you saw him the same way he saw you.

This was just who you were—kind, thoughtful, friendly to everyone. And maybe he was wrong to think he could be more than just another person in your circle.

Today, training had run late, and the sun was dipping low in the sky. Shoto watched as you helped gather equipment. Taking a deep breath, he walked over and began stacking weights beside you.

“Thanks, Shoto,” you said, flashing him a quick smile before handing him a water bottle.

Your fingers brushed his as he took it, and the brief contact made his heart race. “No problem,” he murmured, though his voice was quieter than usual.

As you finished packing up, you started walking away, Shoto followed, matching your pace without a word.

You glanced at him, puzzled, but he didn’t look away. His gaze softened, a quiet intensity in his mismatched eyes. He wanted to tell you, to let you know you weren’t just someone kind and helpful to him—you were so much more. But instead of speaking, he lingered close, hoping his actions might one day be enough to show